


The kindness of a stranger

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Attraction, F/M, First Meetings, Missing home, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Taverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: Nihra Lavellan makes her way to the conclave and encounters a kind human along the way.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Rylen (Dragon Age)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	The kindness of a stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joufancyhuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/gifts).



The innkeeper confirms her suspicion. There are no more rooms. 

"I'm sorry, miss. The road's been filling up with travelers headed to the holy site. The Divine's to come."

Nihra nods glumly at the woman. The inn's bar is packed with all kinds of people, warriors and opportunists, guards and Chantry members too. Nihra had known the odds were slim, but a locked door would have provided some relief now that all matters of travelers are trying to reach the conclave.

She turns away from the innkeeper and heads toward the door, shouldering through bodies. Shrugging her pack, Nihra steps out into the brisk air. There is snow on the ground up here in the mountains, but the sun is still high enough to manage a shelter before nightfall. Perhaps she'll be able to find a cave. 

A man steps out behind her. Before he can make a move or say a word, Nihra pivots back, blade raised to his throat. His hands rise to state his innocence and she lowers the weapon down marginally so he might speak. 

"If you'd have cut my throat, I'd not be able to offer you my room." 

She looks at him skeptically. He is tall with dark curled hair and eyes the color of foam on a choppy sea. There are scars across his right brow and cheek. A tattoo on the side of his nose points downward like an arrow and four tattooed lines curve around the contours of his chin. At first glance he does not appear overly altruistic. For all she knows, he spins a pretty tale now that he's been threatened by her dagger. 

"I don't believe you," she says, moving the dagger closer to his throat. "Tell me why I should let you go at all." 

“I can't," he says dryly. “If you kill me right in front of the inn, that'll be no trouble for you."

Despite herself, Nihra snorts soundlessly. _Felasil._ The shemlen is right though. She cannot really do him harm out in the open without also putting herself at risk. His offer is far too kind coming from a stranger, however. It seems like a fairly obvious trap, a kind stranger offering respite then taking hacking her to bits. 

"Why would you help me? You do not know me." 

He shrugs, entirely unaffected by her knife. At this point Nihra knows she'll not use it, and lowers her arm. "Your accent tells me you're far from home. You're the only of your kind I've seen." 

_He's far from home too_ , she thinks. His accent sticks out from the locals far more than hers. It is warm and rich, like a bite of honey cake. She slips the blade back away. 

"You're not a noble knight?" 

"A templar, or I once was. From Starkhaven. I don't know what we're fashioning ourselves now, but I'm no knight." The man rubs his throat then gestures back to the door. "The offer still stands. I can share with one of my men, just say the word." 

The offer is tempting. A night's rest without holding one eye open. The comfort of sheets and a warm fire, banked so it burns throughout the night. Nihra would far prefer the aravels, sleeping on a bear hide next to her siblings, the smell of the smoke sending them to sleep and the chirping of birds to wake them come light. But the Keeper had sent her to this human conflict without giving her a way to say no. She can say yes to this offer of kindness though. 

"I can pay you."

He waves his hands in refusal. "No need. The chantry covers my way. Consider it a gift." 

That settles it. Nihra smiles and gestures toward the door. "Please, lead the way." 

She follows the stranger through the crowd. A traveling band has begun, the bard singing a bawdy, uplifting song about a fisherman's wife. There's hardly room between the tables for dancing, but many patrons slap their knees or tap a foot to the beat. The bard emphasizes a few of the lyrics with his hands in great exaggeration. Nihra shakes her head and watches the back of her helpful stranger. His back is broad beneath the linen shirt and the ends of his hair curl against his neck. 

They take the stairs at the end of the open room to a second floor. Up top she watches over the balcony, taking in the sea of people, noting more than a few qunari and dwarves. It seems not only her Keeper had been concerned with what the humans were up to. 

The man stops at a door and unlocks it. He turns back to Nihra and drops the key into her open palm. “I'll gather my things.” 

Nihra waits, studying the crowd again. The gaiety draws a smile to her face. She misses her people. Telling stories by the fire, hunting near dawn, dancing to music and basking in the sun on a warm summer’s day. Hopefully, this conclave will run swift and orderly. The Divine will preside over the proceedings and the templars and mages will reach an accord so she can travel home before the next season passes.

“That should be all,” he says, returning through the door, pack over his arm, and sword at his hip. Nihra glances past him at the low-roaring fire. It looks inviting.

“Thank you," she says, looking back to the man. "I didn’t even catch your name.”

He offers a large hand. “Rylen. Knight Captain Rylen.”

She takes it, sparks flying up her arm at the contact. They smile knowingly at one another while the music heightens below and the crowd joins in on the chorus. Nihra laughs, surprised by how perfect the moment seems, something like joy spreading through her chest. 

“I’ll settle my things and buy you an ale?” he asks. 

She doesn’t hesitate.

“The first one is on me. I’m Nihra Lavellan.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little treat!


End file.
